Red and orange flames surround me in the burned and blackened house. I live far from any other houses, so help will never arrive. I'm trapped in my home, sentenced to be burned to a crisp. Smoke blocks my airways and I choke, but this is only the beginning. The scorching flames lick the walls of my bedroom, boxing me in. There are no windows in my home.
The fire only started with a simple cigarette. The phone rang and I put my iagrette on my desk, even though there were dozens of papers littering the fine crafted wood. I did not expect any paper to catch fire and send my entire home ablaze. But it did, and now I am huddled in the corner of my room, waiting for death. Soon I can't breathe, the smoke invades my lungs. Soon, scalding heat is starting to burn my skin, causing more pain than anyone would believe if they weren't experiencing it themselves. Soon, my vision went blurry and dark from the excruciating pain. Soon, I was almost dead, crying quietly, welcoming death to come faster.